Most Desperately
by Domicile
Summary: Up to this point, I had been so sure I wasn’t experiencing any emotions. But in order for me to feel this broken on the inside, I had to have been. Cam Three-Shot
1. First Part

I hate this passionless life I've begun to lead. I don't know when it started exactly, but it feels like forever since a smile reached my eyes or all the death and destruction on television saddened me. Every morning, I get ready for school and then sit on the end of my bed and stare out the window. I watch the people muddle through their lives. I don't consider where they are going or what they are actually trying to accomplish because I find I don't care.

When it's time for me to go to school, I crunch down the snow-laden sidewalks. Every step I take sounds like the snow is cracking its knuckles at me, I being the one who dared to break its white purity. I don't care about that either. Not that most people think about the feelings of inanimate things, but I generally do seeing as food is a big part of my life. That reminds me, I forgot to eat breakfast.

My high school is a large, dirty, red brick building with shaded windows. The snow that flurries down around it makes it look even gloomier than usual. Every time I walk up those steps, I can't help but think about how many people have wasted so many years of their lives in this place. This domicile of nothingness. My fellow students swarm up the steps to escape the cold, wintry air, and into the prison of a place without a thought to why. They just do. We just attend school. Why? I don't know. Apparently it's the law.

I linger outside until the bell signaling first period rings. I like to stand out in extreme weather. Well, extreme for Seattle. It's below freezing outside and the snow smacking me in the face isn't helping me maintain body heat. But I don't care. Being in the center of the storm is helping me feel more alive for a little while.

The late bell chimes and I finally head inside. The linoleum floor squeaks from people dragging their wet shoes across it. The overhead lights feel especially bright today and in my eyes. Why do school always have lights on when its daytime? The stairs are made of a thick rubber covered in small bumps to keep people from slipping. Every time I look at them I can't help but picture some poor girl or boy running late for class and SLAM! They go face down on the drenched linoleum, backpack flying away. In my current state of mind, would I help them up? Would I stop and crease my expression into concern? Or would I laugh? I used to hate people that laughed when others got hurt. But now… would I feel anything at all?

My first class of the day is Algebra 2 with Mrs. Bailey. It's on the second floor and off to the left. I trace the path without thinking about it. Why does everything in life become routine, become commonplace? My teacher is tall, thin, and lacks every curve normally associated with women. Her hair is dark and cut short, her eyes are small and brown. Back in September, when the school year had started and I first met her, I thought she was gay. It was just an observation, not an accusation. About a week before Thanksgiving she announced that she and her husband were expecting their second child. I felt like a douche at the time, but I don't really feel anything anymore so it doesn't matter.

She smiles at me when I enter like she always does. "Good morning."

I nod my head in response. I'm finding that words are necessary less and less.

I sit in the back by the window because I'm one of the few Mrs. Bailey trusts to sit that far back and still pay attention. I drop my bag next to the desk and sit. The snow is still falling ever thicker. I went to church with a friend once and her priest told me rain was God's tears. So what does that make snow?

Since I sit in the last row, only two people are next to me. The boy directly in front of me is named Ryan and he has brown hair. I never really see his face, so I probably couldn't pick him out of a lineup. But he smells good and he wears nice clothes, so I don't mind having him so close. The boy to my right is ADHD in human form. His hair is bright red and his face is covered in freckles. Every day he brings in new toys to fidget with during class. Mrs. Bailey doesn't stop him because it's the only thing keeping him quiet while she teaches. Every other day he flashes his blue eyes my way and asks if I'd like to go out with him sometime. Every day I say no. I don't remember his name. It doesn't feel important enough to remember.

I wonder how long I lived based entirely on my feelings and ignoring the facts. Right now, all I can do is look around and observe what is. Not what I think is there or happening, but what is actually happening, good or bad. I open my notebook and scribble down what Mrs. Bailey tells us to remember for the next test, but I'm not really paying attention. I haven't in a long time. School is one of those things I feel only needs one ear. I feel? Those probably aren't the right words for it. Its one of those things I use only one ear for. No feelings involved.

Right before the bell rings to end class, ADHD boy nudges me. "Hey, hey."

"What?"

"How about you and me have dinner and then go to a movie Friday night?" He grins in what he probably thinks is a charming way. I just stare.

"No, thanks."

The bell goes and I grab my bag to head out. My locker is on the first floor, so its back down the rubber steps and back through my imagination and its injury driven thought bubbles. My locker is filled with pictures from a time that I don't really remember anymore. Pictures of my friends and all of us smiling during the good times we've shared. I shove my Algebra book into my locker and close the door on my memories. They don't seem to mean as much to me as they used to.

Art is my second period this semester. I think the title of the class is something more specific like Painting or Drawing or something like that, but Mr. Donahue covers everything, so I don't really care. Not that I would care anyway. Mr. Donahue is my favorite teacher, if I cared to put them in places, and I don't. He's forty-ish and going bald. I like his optimistic attitude and his desire to capture reality on canvas. It's interesting.

Last week we started the sketches for our project. This month's project is called 'Most Desperately' We're supposed to figure out what we want most, need most, or live for in this world and sketch it, then paint it. That's probably the reason for all my ponderings. I can't figure out what I desire the most. I want to say for my dad to come back, but I can't. I know that isn't it. So I sit on my stool and doodle on my otherwise blank paper. I'm not a very good artist. Nobody at my table can figure out the pictures I scribble in the margins. I can't either.

I sit with two other girls and a boy in this class. I honestly don't know any of their names and their faces are a blur to me. I start to feel like going back to sleep around this time, even though its only about 8:30 in the morning or something like that and I just got up at seven.

The bell for third period rings and breaks me out of my sleepy glaze. Third period is English and one of my better classes of the day. Not because of Mrs. Ferguson, but because my best friend is in that class. She seems to be the only one who breaks this lack I seem to suffer through most of the time. But then I get around her and I feel and I need and I want to be more. Be more of what? I don't know.

After a quick trip to my locker, I plop down in my seat next to her. She's asleep in her seat; her head resting on her hands, her breathing even, as if she had been there for the last couple hours instead of mere minutes. She peaks an eye open at me and grins.

"Hey." She says, stretching.

"Hey."

"Man, I so don't want to be here today. Can you imagine the incredible sledding experience we could be having if we weren't here?" She rambles. "I mean, Seattle hardly ever get very much snow and they're going to hold us in this place while the world outside turns white and wonderful. What happened to the better days when we'd get school off for half an inch on the ground?"

I shrug. "Gone."

"Gee, way to be a cynic." She goes to continue her rant, but Mrs. Ferguson walks in and tells her to stop talking.

English is boring. It isn't even worth observing. So I didn't. I let my eyes squint and studied my best friend's profile. She's so pretty.

Fourth period Spanish. I'm not big on foreign languages, but I'm required to take a couple of years. This is my second. I think I'll drop it next year. My guy friend Freddie is in this class. Notice I said guy friend. Not boyfriend. Guy friend. Freddie being my boyfriend kind of creeps me out so don't think like that.

He's always excited about something, it seems. Every time I see him, he's on the balls of his feet, bouncing up and down and babbling. Today is no different. "Enrique brought food!"

Our teacher has us call him by his first name. He thinks it ups his cool factor and makes him popular with the students. I think it's awkward. "Cool." I mutter in reply to Freddie.

"You aren't excited?" He demands, giving me a look like I'm ridiculously weird for not being excited.

I shrug.

I think that's what my life has been reduced to: nothing but a shrug. The shrug of the indifferent. Why must I feel like this now? In the middle of my sophomore year of high school, shouldn't I be feeling something? Anything? Where is that famed teen angst or the drama normally associated with my age group? Am I supposed to be the one creating it? Hell, I don't know. Life doesn't come with an instruction manual.

Enrique starts class the same way every day: he lets out a stream of Spanish that none of us understand and then laughs. I think these streams are actually jokes, but that doesn't make me understand him any better. Or maybe he just laughs at the expressions of confusion on everyone's faces. That's the only memorable part of Spanish.

After forth period is lunch. I'm actually not a big fan of the lunchtime thing. I don't like the rush of people fighting to get the tasty, soft cookies or the freshest batch of fries. So I don't take part in at all. I slip into the courtyard and watch my hair get covered in the flakes drifting down from the grey sky. It feels beautiful to me. And yes, I mean feels. She has this effect on me, that best friend I was talking about. She makes me see some beauty in my days.

If she makes me see beauty, than why aren't I eating lunch with her? The answer to that is plain and simple: I can't. I can't eat with her because she'll expect me to participate actively in conversation and show expression in my face. But I can't. I can't give her that and I really don't want to disappoint her. She would be disappointed too. When we were younger, she always told me that I'm the one who saved her from herself. How could I have done that for her and be like this? I couldn't. So she can't know about my lack of… well, everything.

I'm not eating anything for lunch even though I skipped breakfast. Its not that I'm anorexic or somehow opposed to eating, I'm just not hungry. I don't know why. Normally I'm the one going back for seconds and thirds. But lately, I can barely bring myself to have the first course. Is eating something for people with passion? There's no way my lack of is filling my stomach instead of solids. I'll have to eat dinner tonight. My pants are feeling looser and I'm already skinny.

Fifth period is Biology with Mrs. Johnson. I trudge back upstairs to her classroom, but its more my mood than a dislike for her class. Mrs. Johnson is over six foot tall and bounces at the head of the class while she teaches. I'd never met someone who got so enthused about meiosis before I took her class.

Mrs. Fisher's World History, my sixth period, is right down the hall from Biology, which makes for an easy transfer. I've been a good student my whole life, but for some reason, I've fallen asleep every day this semester in her class. I just can't bring myself to stay awake to hear about who used the Silk Road and why. Not that its boring to me, I actually find history interesting. Then again, I used to find human behavior interesting in general, so that's probably the stem. Anyhow, I'm not really sure how this class goes because I take my seat and crash.

As I fight my way home through the snow, I honestly can't believe how long a school day is. I mean, first period starts at 7:25 in the morning and here I am finally on my way home at half past 2! I want to feel angered by this, but I can't. The inclination just isn't there.

I arrive home cold and wet and tired. School is so tiring. There on the couch, though, is my best friend. She's sprawled across the cushions, holding a bowl of popcorn.

"How did you beat me here?" I question.

"Ditched after fifth." She answers automatically, eyes staring deep into the television. "I feel like you and I need to talk."

"Yeah?" I mumble, dropping my back and shedding my outer layers.

"Yeah. Well, not really talk, but more like this."

Before I can respond or jump out of the way, she leaps on all fours off the couch and tackles me to the ground. She's laughing her ass off as she pins my limbs, but I'm not as amused. I wish I was, but I'm not.

"Come on, Carly. You know that was funny." She chuckles, leaning down close to me.

I shrug. "I think I broke my spine."

"Oh, come on. I don't weigh that much." She sits back onto her haunches so I can lift myself up to face her.

I look around. "Sam, who let you in?"

She grins as she acknowledges the lack of anyone else present. "Spencer."

"I don't see Spencer anywhere."

"He… left. After he let me in."

"Right."

Her smile falters and she stares deeply into my eyes. "We really do need to talk, Carly."

"About?" I encourage.

Sam tilts her head to the side to study me. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Fine." I nod.

"Good. I don't want you to feel sick when I tell you this." She gives me a half smile. "Hopefully you won't feel sick afterwards either."

"Oh god. You didn't do something to Freddie, did you?" I used an expression of horror, but I didn't feel it. So what?

She shakes her head, but I don't feel relief. I didn't need to. "This has nothing to do with that dork."

"Than what is it?"

She's still sitting on me and she shifts uncomfortably. "Carly, I… I'm in love with you."

We stare at each other for several minutes.

"What?" I finally say.

I feel something. I know I do. Its there, whatever it is. But I can't figure it out. I don't know what the tightening in my gut means. I don't know what this is.

"I'm in love with you." She repeats.

"I-I don't believe you." I tell her, my voice jumping a little. Doesn't that break mean I feel something? Yes. There is something. Fear? Happiness? Anger? Confusion? I don't know. But it's something. And something's better than nothing.

"What? How can you say that? I'm in love with you. I really am." She bobs her head.

"Prove it."

And she does. After a glance around my brother's loft, she leans forward and presses her lips to mine. It's slow and easy and more like a friend kiss than anything else. She pulls back after a second and we stare at each other. It didn't feel weird or anything, but we've never kissed before.

This time, I initiate because I know I'm feeling something and I want to pull it out more. My hand curls around the back of her head and I drag her lips back to mine.

A passion, a kind I haven't felt in so long, comes over me. My bones feel like they are slipping out of their joints and my muscles shake with energy and anticipation. My head buzzes not with observations, but with sensations.

This kiss feels less friendly and more intimate. At first, our lips just push against each other, but I deepen it. I drag down her chin and slip my tongue in her mouth. Her taste sends shockwaves through my system and I need more. I caress her tongue with my own and thrust my hands deeper into her golden locks. She tastes like chocolate milk and cantaloupe, but it seems to me that that is really the perfect combination for a kiss.

This time when we separate, we both climb to our feet and take several steps away from each other. She licks her lips repeatedly and I would swear that she was shaking. She grabs her coat from the rack by the door and turns back to look at me.

"I got to go home." She states and I nod. "I'll see ya tomorrow."

She's out the door and I'm following after her to peak out the peephole. Sam has paused outside the door and appears to be talking to Freddie. I press my ear to the door to try to catch a bit of the conversation.

"… Work?" Freddie was saying in a voice an octave deeper than his natural one.

"I guess so." Sam responds in her melodic tone.

"What did she say when you told her you were in love with her?" Freddie questions.

"She said she didn't believe me." Sam's voice.

Freddie asks, "Did she have a reaction besides that?"

"No."

"Damn, I thought that would be enough to shock her back into being the old Carly."

"Apparently not."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to try something else."

"Guess so."

"Good try though, Sam. I thought for sure you confessing your love for her would be the thing to do it."

"Me too."

"Are you sure she didn't have a response?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

I lean against the door and clutch my heart. Up to this point, I had been so sure I wasn't experiencing any emotions. But in order for me to feel this broken on the inside, I had to have been.


	2. Second Part

I've realized something during my last several minutes of bawling my eyes out, something I couldn't seem to think about when these freaking emotions were still gone. Why am I focusing on when I started feeling empty? Shouldn't I be thinking about why? I guess that's the thing about emotions. Why is almost never factual. It's based on opinions, feelings, and desires. Not reason. All I could bring my brain to focus on was when. Time. There is nothing more factual than time.

Actually, I'm having trouble focusing on anything right now. I've already eaten my way through three packages of fatcakes, a tub of ice cream, seven mini Hershey bars, and a piece of garlic toast. I'm just unbelievably hungry. And yeah, I'm still crying so the tears are dripping onto my food and making wet things more wet and dry things wet. It's kind of a mess. But that's the only thing I can't bring myself to care about right now. Everything else feels like hell crashed down around me while I had my head in the clouds. As soon as Sam left, I'd collapsed onto the couch, turned on the news, and cried even harder at all of the death and destruction that hadn't been bothering me for so long. This whole world is just so sad! Including the weather. How depressing!

I think focusing is something for empty people. When I didn't involve emotion in my everyday thought, I could watch one channel all day. Imagine that, one channel. Who can do that when clicking that remote control is just so appealing? Between the television, my foot tapping, and my constant eating, I've never been better at multitasking. It's a skill, really.

I'd just finished the _Friends_ episode where Chandler and Monica get married, when Spencer walks in. I have never sobbed harder in my life. It was just so beautiful. Chandler with his goofy weirdness, and Monica with her… extreme need to clean. Beautiful. Back to Spencer. He walks in to find me bawling into a popcorn ball on the couch while another rerun starts on television.

"You're crying!" He exclaims and, when I look over at him, he's never had a wider grin on his face.

"You're smiling!" I accuse in the same voice.

He clears his throat and frowns. "Yeah. Sorry. Totally inappropriate." He says as he breaks out in a smile again. "Sorry."

I jab at my eyes to try and get rid of the tears so evident there. "Stop smiling. You're making me feel like an idiot."

He hugs me then, squashing my moist popcorn ball into my chest. "You feel!"

"Duh. I'm human." I say in a monotone.

"Right, right." He laughs. "I'm so happy. We should go out for tofu vegetarian pizza."

"Why are you so happy?" It was originally just a basic question that popped forth based on his response, but now that it was out, it felt so much deeper. I was still crying steadily as we stared at each other. He finally had a serious expression on his face.

"Well, you know. You've been kind of off lately. I'm just happy you're back to yourself." He shrugs, gazing around the destroyed living room. I was a bit enthusiastic in my desperate search for food.

"How long was I off?"

He sits down next to me with a sigh, taking a bite out of my popcorn ball. "About three months."

I ponder that for a moment. Imagine three months of one's life gone in a blink of an eye. Do I even have any memories from that time? The whole world seemed like a blur. For three months, I checked out. No emotions experienced, so nothing to tie average days to me. If I weren't already draining the fluids in my body via tear ducts, I would've started then. Three months lost.

"Why?" It was the only word I could choke up my throat.

He eyeballs the room. "I don't think I'm really the one to discuss it with. I only know part of the story, anyway."

"Tell me the part you know." I command.

He doesn't listen and just shakes his head. "It's better if you hear the whole thing at once. And from Sam."

"Sam?" I squeak.

He nods. "Yeah. She's the only one who knows everything that happened. But hey, let's forget that tonight and watch hour after hour of old movies. We'll laugh, we'll cry, it'll be fun."

I'd never wanted to see someone and avoid them at the same time so much. Why was Sam so tied into all of this? She seemed to be just as wound into my whole three-month issue as I am. Everything is so complicated when feelings are involved. Life is ridiculous.

"Sure, Spence. I'd like that."

Getting up for school the next morning was extraordinarily easy. For so long, I've struggled to rise from my bed and greet the day, but not this morning. I was up with my alarm at 6 and _excited_. I woke up with a rush not normally associated with the average school day. Part of me wanted to cry, and part of me wanted to dance. So I cried and danced while I got ready for school. To be completely honest, I think it did wonders for my psyche.

My walk to school is a little messier than it was yesterday. Seattle decided to warm up ten degrees and than let the precipitation hit. So, slushy snow soaks into my tennis shoes down below and ruins my hairstyle up above. The rain slaps into my face like the sky is punishing me for taking so long to get feeling back. Or was it tears that rain is? Can tears really be punishment? My mind flashes back to Sam and the crying and the heartache and I know it can be.

School is dull. Plain and simple. The building is a dull brick red with not even a rosebush to liven it up. Students run up the stairs and inside, totally ignoring the fact water is attacking them from every angle. It's a Washingtonian thing, I think. Complete and utter disregard for rain. Like it never happens here. Who owns an umbrella? It rains so much here, I'd have to buy a new one so often. Anyway, back to the school. The steps are slippery and I almost wish I could be the person who slips and their stuff goes flying. It would be painful, right? But I don't stop to contemplate slipping on the stairs and head up into my math class.

Mrs. Bailey is always so cheerful. She makes me want to start crying all over again. How could one be so happy in a world like this? Yeah, I watch the news. Maybe she needs to once in a while to maintain realistic expectations. No, she should keep her happiness. Why am I analyzing this? Its not like I have any say in the matter. It's not even a matter.

"Good morning."

"Morning." I respond, watching her eyes go wide as I hand over my homework. I probably haven't responded to her once this year.

ADHD boy's attention is on me like white on rice as soon as I take my seat.

"You look different." He says.

I nod. "I had a sex change last night."

"What?" He exclaims in his shock.

"I'm kidding." I soothe, taking out my math book.

"Right." He turns away from me to fidget with his backpack.

He doesn't ask me out today. In fact, he doesn't speak to for the rest of class. I'm okay with that, though. For the first time in a long time, I actually pay attention. I follow the examples in the book, I listen to my teacher's lecture, I even take notes. It feels weird, but I do them because I should. Because staring out the window day after day wishing I were still in bed gets me nowhere. What could I possibly have gotten out of staring out the window? Nothing. I hadn't gotten anything out of the last few months.

ADHD boy ignores me when the bell rings and I pack up to leave.

Getting emotions back and figuring them out are two very different things. Yeah, I feel. Blah, blah, blah. But it doesn't help me figure out what I want the most. I mean, this project is kind of asking a lot, isn't it? How am I supposed to figure out what the most important thing in my life is? What I want most desperately? As far as I know, I don't want anything. Not desperately. Besides Cheetos. The hot kind. But who doesn't want that?

I actually sit with three girls in this class. The one I thought was a boy isn't. And no, she didn't get a sex change last night either. She just has really short hair. I couldn't repeat their names, but I see their faces now. None of them are very attractive. Not that that's a problem, of course its not. Just an observation. I can still have those, right? Even with the feelings and stuff?

Sam isn't in her seat when I finally reach English. She doesn't show up for the rest of class. The crack in my heart widens a little and I had my tears in my sleeves. Mrs. Ferguson introduces the book we are to read now, _The Epic of Gilgamesh_. Yeesh.

In Spanish, Enrique is out with the flu. Our substitute is about a thousand years old and puts on the original _Count of Monte Cristo_. Freddie sits really close to me and repeatedly stretches his hand towards mine then yanks it back quickly with a change of decision.

We sit together at lunch. He rambles about the movie, even though I'm sure he didn't see any of it he was so focused on my hand. I eat greasy fries and down chocolate milk while he delicately works his way through the perfectly balanced lunch his mom packed him.

Mrs. Johnson has us play _Jeopardy_ to help us remember the material for the test in fifth period. I try to actively participate but I don't remember anything about cell structure besides the fact it has one. She doesn't seem to mind that I don't know any of the answers and just comments on how much she likes my enthusiasm.

I sleep through World History. Some things never change, no matter the circumstances.

As I sludge home, I can't help but wonder if I took more in today than in the proceeding ones. I mean, yeah, my head was in the game this time. But I noticed so much more when I wasn't complicating everything with feelings. I'm going to go with today being more meaningful. Perhaps previous days being more productive? I guess it doesn't matter. Why am I analyzing every little thing today? Gees.

Sam's on my couch again when I get home. She's lying upside down, chugging a Peppy Cola. We stare at each while I set my backpack down and move closer to her.

"You weren't in English." Statements are always nice to have on hand when just the sight of her makes me want to burst into tears all over again. Her curls are flopped around, her eyes wide. She's wearing the t-shirt my dad sent me from Europe and a pair of my sweatpants.

She sets the now empty can down on the coffee table and turns slightly to look at me more upright. "I skipped." She says with a shrug.

"You know, one day the school is going to come after you for that." I point out, rocking onto the sides of my feet because I don't know what else to do with myself.

"No they won't." She counters.

I give. "You're right. Our attendance policy is like non-existent. You probably won't get into any trouble."

My heart is fighting its way out of chest so it can lay broken and bleeding in front of Sam. But I won't cry. I won't let her know how much she hurt me. Its not like she knew I was braking down on the other side of the door while she chatted with Freddie. No need to alert her now.

Come to think of it, these last three months must have been more obvious and terrible than previously suspected. Sam casually talking with Freddie, that isn't something that happens all the time. No insults, no nothing. Just a talk. This is all a lot scarier than I imagined. As much as she put me through yesterday, how much did I put her through for the last several weeks?

"You look different." She's climbing to her feet, moving closer. "You look like you want to cry." Her hand is reaching for my cheek, but I shrug it away.

"I'm fine." I'm lying and she knows it. "So, uh, we started a new book in English."

She rolls her eyes. "Can we stop pretending like school is really what we want to talk about?" Her fingers trace the outside of my hands and begin walking up my wrists.

My mouth bobs open for a response, but then I realize I don't have one. "Okay." I finally squeak after a minute.

"What's really on your mind?" She questions. Her hands are definitely on me now, her fingers curled around my arms so I wouldn't even think of escaping.

"Nothing. My mind is blank. Totally blank."

"Don't lie to me, Carly."

"Why? You lied to me!" My words are yelled in the highest pitch I've ever been able to reach and she looks stunned, but not as much as me. "You… you," I say in a softer voice. "You put me through so much yesterday."

She seems even more surprised by this. "What?"

"With your whole 'I'm in love with you' thing. You really… really," I break off because I don't know what I'm trying to say or how to finish my sentence.

"Really what?" She encourages.

I lick my lips before meeting her gaze. "Hurt me."

She sighs, dropping her hands to her sides. "That wasn't the goal. You have to know I wasn't trying to hurt you."

"Then what were you trying to do?" She's the one moving away now, heading into the kitchen. But now I'm interested, so I chase after her.

"Jog your memory." She states simply and begins to fix herself a bowl of Captain Crunch with Root Beer.

I frown at her. "Jog my memory?"

She nods. "Yeah."

"And what am I supposed to be remembering?" I say, trying to get her to continue.

"What happened three months ago," She digs into her cereal like we aren't having this conversation.

"What happened three months ago?" I ask.

"I wouldn't have asked for this talk if I had known you didn't remember." She won't look at me now, keeping her eyes staring at her bowl.

"Damn it, Sam! Just tell me!" I exclaim, making even me jump at my own sudden outburst.

She rubs her lips together, pausing in her cereal consumption. "Three months ago, that's when you changed."

"I know, Spencer told me that much." I roll my eyes.

"Yeah, I assumed he would."

"That's it? I'm supposed to remember changing?" I pull the bowl of cereal out of her hands and all but throw it in the sink.

"No, you're supposed to remember what set it off."

"And what was that?"

She sighs heavily. "Carly…"

"Sam, just tell me."

She licks her lips, digging her nails into the kitchen counter. After a minute or two, she looks at me again. "Three months ago… That was when you told me you were in love with me. And I… I couldn't return your feelings."


	3. Final Part

_**Three Months Ago…**_

I'm a little obsessed with meetings.

Sometimes I sit in shops for hours, just watching people walk by and stop to greet one another. Once in awhile, you get those two people who spot each other, eye contact is made, and they just connect. And even though I'm not in on it, I'll never know them, not even their names, I feel a spasm of excitement. Even the off meetings, where someone accidentally runs into someone else and there's a spark. Or maybe even a bully realizing their victim is the greatest person they'll ever meet.

That was how it happened, my first meeting with Sam. I spotted her across the playground, and something just went through me like liquid fire. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to hear her voice say my name. Luckily, she decided to steal my sandwich and my opportunity came up.

I think about that meeting a lot. Every time I find myself a spot to just observe the world from, I think about it. It was, perhaps, the greatest meeting of my life. People always assume Sam needs me, but, in truth, I need her.

We've been best friends for several years, but I've been in love with her for at least half of them. I've thought about telling her a lot. I know she wouldn't shove me away or hate me or anything; Seattle is a very accepting place to live. But I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk her not wanting to be in my life anymore.

Until now. For some reason, on this day, in this time, I'm ready to tell her. I'm ready to fall forward into forever with her. I'm ready to risk everything.

I originally wanted her to meet me at a coffee shop or something so we would both be comfortable, but I decided her coming to my loft would be the easiest. That way I could cry alone if she turned me down and not in public. Or we could make out if she wanted me too.

She knew something was up. I could tell by the look on her face from the moment I opened the door. Her hands are buried in her pockets, her lips straight and not smiling. She perches on the couch, keeping the bulk of her weight on her feet.

"So…" She begins, glancing at me. "What's up?"

I shrug. "Can't a girl just want to see her best friend?"

"Is that all this is?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Didn't think so."

"I have something to tell you…"

"This doesn't sound good."

"Please don't freak out or anything."

"Oh, God."

I took a couple of shaky breaths, stepping closer to her and closer to the couch. Not being able to build up the nerve to say it while standing, I drop into the chair, turning to face her.

"Sam, I… I'm in love with you." I don't feel relieved at all with it finally out there. If anything, my chest gets even tighter.

She stares at me for a few minutes. "What?" She blinks.

"I'm in love with you." I repeat.

"I-I don't believe you." She stutters.

I bob my head several times as fast as I can. "I'm in love with you. I really am."

"Prove it." She dares me.

I do. I lean forward and attach my mouth to hers, putting all of the love and lust swirling inside of me into it. And she kisses me back.

_She kisses me back._

I'm on cloud nine when her hand traces down my neck and her tongue touches just inside my mouth.

But then she's pushing me back.

"Carly…" She mumbles, her voice fearful and shaky.

I lean in to kiss her again, but she stands, stepping towards the door and shaking her head.

"I can't, Carly. I'm sorry." She slips out the door, leaving me to melt to the floor.

Heartbreak is a hard thing to deal with. I don't cry, I don't do anything. I simply stand, look around, and go on with my day. Like the whole thing never happened. Maybe for me, it didn't ever happen. Rejection from Sam is just more than I can ever deal with. So I won't. I'll move on and forget.

Forget.

_**Present Day…**_

Great. I'm crying again. And in Art class. That's just great. The three girls I sit with look worried, but they don't know me well enough to actually say anything. Mr. Donahue, being a teacher, doesn't have that kind of hold-up. He slips over and tightens an arm around my shoulders.

"Ms. Shay, such a display of emotion. Why aren't you painting?"

I'd expected him to ask me what was wrong. I should have known he would simply shove a canvas in front of me and a paintbrush in my hand. But somehow, it was so much better than any conversation.

I'm not a very good artist, but for this, this piece entitled _Most Desperately_, the colors swirled together in ways they never have for me before. I feel so creative and alive as I add a dab of this and an etching of that, trying to take all of this emotion off my shoulders and slap it into reality. I'm not even sure what I'm painting through the blur of tears, but it feels real and perfect. Completely perfect.

Mr. Donahue saunters back over when the bell rings. He pats my shoulder, smiling. "That's beautiful, Carly. You can come pick it up after school; I've already given you a grade for it. I think it's meant for eyes that aren't mine, anyway."

I wander to third period feeling a hell of a lot lighter. And even though I glance hopefully at her seat, I'm glad Sam isn't there. Too much tension. Especially since she left last night right after telling me I confessed my love for her. Which I totally remember now.

Mrs. Ferguson is glaring at me like she knows I'm not paying attention. How do teachers always know when I'm spacing? Maybe because I'm totally obvious about it, looking up at the ceiling and balancing a pencil on my nose.

I guess the worst part is I know I'm still in love with her. I felt it last night, I feel it now. There's that little piece of me that is willing to forgive and forget all of her faults. I guess that's what you do when you love someone.

It doesn't mean I want to face her yet, though.

Freddie smiles at me all through Spanish, finally approaching when the bell rings. He wipes the tears off my cheeks, brushing my hair out of my face. I get the feeling he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't. Instead, he faces me towards the door and frog-marches me to lunch.

"You want to talk about it?" He finally asks when we drop into the elongated seats of the table in the courtyard.

I shake my head, but start talking about it anyway. "How could I just forget? Really? How the hell could I forget? How could she let me?"

He shrugs. "How could we stop you? By the time I saw you, you were already gone."

"Yeah, but Sam could have stopped me." I sigh, pulling out my lunch of leftover spaghetti tacos. "She could have saved me the last three days of bawling my eyes out."

"So you remember what happened?"

"Well, duh!" I exclaim at him. "And it isn't helping anything!"

"Do you… uh, do you want to tell me what happened?"

I glance over him. He's blushing. "You don't know?"

"No." He states, sounding somewhat annoyed. "Sam never told me. She never told anyone. All she said was 'we have to get Carly back.'"

"Oh…" I bob my head, looking down. Then I blurt, "I'm in love with her."

"What?" Freddie all but screams.

"I'm in love with Sam." I repeat.

"Since when?"

"Since like four years ago. That's what happened. I told her."

"That's what happened four years ago or that's what happened three months ago?"

"Yeah, Freddie. That's what happened four years ago and we've been having a huge love affair that we just can't hide anymore."

"No need for sarcasm. This is all news to me. And very disappointing." His eyes are full of hurt when he looks at me. "You like girls? You're gay?"

I shrug. "I like Sam. I don't know if it applies to all girls."

"She must have turned you down then."

"Yesterday?"

His eyes widen. "What happened yesterday?"

"She reminded me."

"Oh."

"And I kissed her."

"You what?"

"Not yesterday, but a couple of days ago."

"You WHAT!"

"And she kissed me back."

"She what?"

"Then she ran away."

"Woo, hold on. Back up." He stands, shoving his palms into the table. "She kissed you after she confessed her love for you?"

"Yeah. She didn't mention that when she recapped for you in the hallway?"

He blushes, sitting back down and swallowing his guilt. "No, she didn't."

"Well, it doesn't matter. I'm still in love with her and she's still not in love with me." I wipe at my face. "And I can't freaking stop crying!"

He laughs at my outburst. "Well, I can't stop the tears, but I'm not so sure you have Sam figured out."

"You think she'll rip my heart out again?"

"No, I think she might be in love with you, too."

I frown at him. "Yeah, because all of this rejection she's sent my way screams that she's actually in love with me."

He smiles. "She kissed you."

"I know. I was there."

"That's something."

I finally catch on to what he's thinking. "Oh. I know where you're going. And I like it."

School takes forever to end. I don't even sleep through History. I'm literally bouncing with anticipation. I nearly laugh with relief when the bell rings at 2:37. Praying that she's at my loft again today, I practically run home.

She is.

Wearing my clothes, eating my food, watching my television. That's the Sam I know and love.

I slam the front door shut and toss my bag to the side.

"Is Spencer home?" I demand of her.

"Went to get us smoothies. Don't worry, he's picking one up for you too." She sits up a little, watching me worriedly. "What's up?"

I take a running jump at the couch, leaping into the air and landing on top of her.

"Ow!" She yells at me, rubbing at her legs where my knees continue to dig into her flesh. "What the hell, Carly!"

I move my knees to the side of her thighs, and lean forward to kiss her. She doesn't seem to realize that's the plan, so she doesn't move out of the way. I hold her mouth firmly to mine with a hand on her chin. I nibble lightly on her bottom lip and her mouth opens, then I shove my tongue in just to her teeth. I wait for a minute for her tongue to reach for mine, and I sigh when it finally does.

I grin as I pull away from her. "You kissed me."

"No, you kissed me." She corrects, gesturing at my currently dominant position on top of her.

"A couple days ago. You kissed me."

"To bring you back." She insists, trying to sit up a little more, but failing as I continue to hold her down.

"You didn't have to."

"Sure I did."

"No you didn't!" I exclaim, bouncing in her lap. "You _wanted_ to kiss me!"

She stares open mouthed at me. "No, I didn't." She says defensively.

"You always kiss me back."

"Because you're my best friend."

"Wrong." I correct. "Because you love me too."

"Of course I love you, Carly."

"So you can return my feelings now?"

We stare at each other for a minute.

"What?' She says in a soft voice.

"Last night you said you couldn't return my feelings three months ago. Can you return them now?"

Her mouth opens and closes several times. "That's… a complicated question."

The door swings open and in strolls Spencer. "Smoothies have arrived!" He announces before he spots us on the couch. "What the hell?"

I look back at him. "Could you step back out for like two minutes, Spencer?"

He nods and slowly backs out the door.

"Well?" I say, turning my attention back to Sam.

"Well…"

"Well, what?" I snap.

She smiles up at me. "When did you become so pushy? I like it."

"Sam."

"I don't know, okay?" She exclaims at me, finally finding the strength to fully sit up under my weight. "I don't know. I knew this whole episode with you was because of me, but I don't want me being with you to be the fix."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't! If I'm going to be with you, it's not going to be because you'll become a doll again if I'm not." She sighs. "You've been like a painting for the last three months: sad, empty, and two-dimensional."

I slap a hand to my forehead. "My painting!"

"What painting?"

"My painting for art class." I explain hastily, climbing off of her and heading back towards the door. "What I want 'most desperately.' I was supposed to pick it up after school."

"It can wait until tomorrow." Sam says.

Spencer walks back in with the smoothies. "You guys done yet? It's been like five minutes, these smoothies can't wait any longer."

I grab a smoothie and maneuver around Spencer to get out the door. "I gotta run back to school. I forgot my painting."

Sam's slipping on her shoes and tugging on a coat. "I'll go with you."

"After you totally skipped out today? Is that really a good idea?"

She nods. "Yep."

"Okay, come on."

I lead the way down the hall to the stairs. Sam points at the elevator. "Can't we…?"

"No." I say in a low voice. "Stairs are faster. And I have too much excess energy to take the elevator."

I suck down about a third of my smoothie before breaking into a run towards my school with Sam chasing after me and yelling at me to slow down. I don't. Instead, I break into a sprint when I see the brick building. I raise my hands triumphantly over my head and look back at her. She isn't far behind, but she doesn't look half as thrilled as I do.

The school is pretty empty, but there are a few lingerers. I push through some of them, heading downstairs two at a time.

"Is it really that important?"

I hear Sam's question, but I don't answer it. For some reason, it feels like the most important thing in the world. And I know I can't slow down until it's in my hands. Paintings aren't usually this incredible to me, but this one is. This one is everything.

Mr. Donahue is sitting at his desk when we push into the art room. He glances up at me and smiles. He gestures towards the windows. "Its over there."

I jog to the pile of canvases he indicated and sort through them. Mine is third to last in the stack and I hold it over my head excitedly.

"I found it!" I announce.

Both Sam and Mr. Donahue are looking at me like I'm completely insane. And maybe I am. Or maybe I was for those three months and everyone should be this enthusiastic about life.

As we head back out of the art room, at a walk this time since my mission is over, Sam nudges. "Aren't you going to show it to me?"

I bob my head and flip the painting over. "Sure."

"Carly…?" Is all she manages in response.

It's of us. Not an exact replication, of course, because even through emotional outbursts I'm not a great artist. But us none the same. It's a copy of the picture that sits framed next my bed. The picture of that day Sam and I went up in the Space Needle on a field trip and decided we were best friends forever seven years ago. Her arm is around my shoulders and her tongue is sticking out at the camera. I'm just smiling; smiling because I'd already considered her my best friend for almost a year.

"This is what you want most desperately?" She asks, breaking me out of my spacing. "To go back in the Space Needle?"

I roll my eyes at her, but she's smiling. "No." I reply. "I want us to be together forever. Just like you promised me that day."

"Of course we will be." She says, nudging me again and handing my painting back.

"Not as friends." I cut in quickly. "As everything."

She eyeballs me as we head up the stairs to the main level. "Okay."

I stop her from moving any further. "What?"

"Okay." She repeats.

I press my lips to her cheek and then link my hand with hers. She smiles at me. And then we are running again. I drag her at a sprint all the way back up to my loft. As soon as we get in and shut the door, she falls back against it.

"What's with you and running?" She demands of me.

I shrug. "Do you have something against running?"

Spencer is spread eagle on the floor, an empty smoothie cup lying next to his head. And he's snoring. I smile at him, grabbing a blanket out of his bedroom and covering him. Sam seems to catch on and grabs a pillow off the couch for his head .We sneak up the stairs being as quiet as possible not to wake him.

First things first when we enter my room. I dig some tacks out of my desk and set about hanging my painting up. Sam plops down on my bed, realizing that I needed to do this.

Then I tackle her, much in the fashion she did a couple days earlier. She just stares up at me as once again, I get to kiss her. She doesn't hesitate at all this time and just kisses me back full out. Her lips press softly against mine, her tongue skimming against the roof of my mouth. We make out for a few minutes before I pull back and sit up.

"Do you have any idea how much time and energy that could have been saved had you done this three months ago?" I ask her.

She shrugs. "No. Nothing would have been different. If this had happened last time, it wouldn't have lasted."

"What makes you say that?"

She shrugs again. "I just know it wouldn't have. The timing just felt wrong."

"So what's different now?"

"Its right. I can feel it."

I bob my eyebrows at her. "I can feel."


End file.
